You refuse

“I’m not giving up. I’ve been taking it easy on you, but if you don’t let me go now, I’ll have to hurt you,” you bluff.

“Oh no,” she says, “the big strong guy is going to hurt me.”

“But how is he going to hurt me, with a broken arm.” With that she thrust her hips off the ground powerfully and bent by arm. There was a sickening popping sound, followed by your pathetic screams of pain.

“Congratulations,” she mocked me, “you made it through without apologizing.” “Still, I somehow think you learned your lesson anyway.”

You were hardly listening, as you writhed in agony.

She placed her foot on my chest forcing me still and flexes her biceps victoriously.

You scream out in anger and pain, "You're crazy, you broke my arm. Why did you break my arm."

“That was kind of mean," she agrees. "I guess maybe that was a bit excessive for staring at me. I'll tell you what, stop by Mercy Hospital tomorrow morning at 8. I'm a nurse, and I'll be on shift then, and I'll make sure you get in right away. We'll get a cast on it, and it will be as good as new in 6 weeks. Besides, it will be good for you. Your broken arm will serve as a reminder that women are not a piece of meat for you to drool over. I also suggest you don’t come back to the gym on Friday nights unless you’re prepared for a rematch."